


when we all fall asleep, where do we go?

by abandonedddd



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Dream AU, M/M, Pre-Thor (2011), Suspense, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 13:06:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19229713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abandonedddd/pseuds/abandonedddd
Summary: The sorcerer had claimed he would give him a fate worse than death. Is this it? To be faced with his own perversion; the one he had spent so long trying to bury deep inside him. A life he cannot have, with a brother he should not love.





	when we all fall asleep, where do we go?

**Author's Note:**

> I started this forever ago, found it in my WIPS, and finished it up. I feel like it's a little on the sad side, but there's no major character deaths or anything like that. And as far as the unrequited love goes, this is just from Loki's perspective. The end was a little rushed in editing, so I'll probably be tweaking things after I post. Feedback, as always, is loved and appreciated. Thank you for reading!
> 
> Title from Billie Eilish - bury a friend.

**(o.)**

The blast hits him in the chest, blossoming out to all corners, every nerve ending on fire. Loki drops to the ground, hand ripping at his armor. It feels like something alive is eating away at him, devouring his very flesh and soul.

Powerful magic, much more powerful than his own.

In a panic, he finds Thor knocked to the ground, laid out, unconscious. There is the tiniest movement in his breast. He isn’t dead, and that offered some small relief. Through the pain, Loki tries to crawl to him, dragging his own body with heavy jerks and grunts.

They should have just stayed home— but no. Young and foolish, they both craved a quest. No petty relic was worth this, no amount of adventure. Hopefully, in his death, the spell he crafted to keep Heimdall’s watchful eye from them would vanish. He’d like for their bodies to be returned home, no matter how poetic decaying together in a cursed forest sounds.

He is so close. Loki outstretches his fingers toward Thor—if only he could touch him. He might be able to drop his enchantment and call the Bifrost if he tries really hard. The initial pain has certainly subsided enough.

A boot comes down on his wrist, grinding into his bone, and Loki screams.

“You will be executed for this,” Loki spits out. There is something metallic in his mouth, blood. His blood. He’s dying; it’s too late. “You dare to kill two princes of Asgard?”

“It is two princes who trespassed into my land,” the sorcerer replies, his voice as gnarled and distorted as the swamp he crawled from. He smells of it, all the rot and stagnant water. Pollution and death. Loki’s lucky the drip of moss atop his head skews most what is sure to be a hideous face.

“And so, you kill us?” Loki questions again. He sounds strained; worried, even to his own ears. It burns when he attempts to reach for Thor once again.

The heel of the boot grinds down harder, and his efforts are still fruitless.

The sorcerer drops to a crouch, smiling to reveal sharp and rotting teeth, black at the roots. Loki shields his face from the onslaught of a foul stench that escapes, but the eerie voice still rings in his ears.

“I don’t plan to kill you,” he says. “There are things far worse than death.”

“Heimdall!” Loki shouts, tears at his eyes; a truly desperate attempt. Why had he so willingly gone along with Thor’s plan? He had known this was dangerous. “Heimdall!”

The Bifrost never come.

Loki’s world edges in black. Dizzy and disoriented, his head drops to soft mud. The last thing he sees is Thor’s face, eyes closed, dirty and bruised. There is still the slightest movement present in his chest.

Loki hops he will live.

 

 

  **(i.)**

“Loki?”

He rouses from sleep, burying deeper into the comfort of a soft, warm blanket. It’s a clean scent, unfamiliar but pleasant. He ignores Thor in favor of keeping his eyes shut and existing somewhere between being awake and asleep.

 _Thor_.

Something isn’t right. Loki remembers a failed quest, of Thor’s body unconscious in the dirt, of a powerful sorcerer defeating them with one, deafening blow. The smell of swamp, not the scent of clean linen.

He bolts up in a tangle of blankets, scrambling to push them down his body. Thor is there, sitting on the edge of the bed dressed strangely and looking a mix of amused and concerned. He only wears a loose gray shirt and even looser bottoms in a loud, colorful print.

Loki looks down to find he’s dressed much the same, to his distaste.

“Why are we on Midgard?” Loki swallows. It’s been so long since they’ve watched this realm from the safety of Asgard— but this attire, this setting, it seems vaguely familiar. That has to be the realm they occupy.

Thor makes a face. “Midgard?”

Panic strums in Loki’s chest, ever increasing. He looks around the room. He’s in a bed, a large one, one for two. There’s minimal furniture, but everything is designed pleasantly and appealing to the eye. A bookcase, filled with thin novels, not ancient tomes. The dresser is topped with only a few bottles and a plant, not littered with empty vials and potions. On the wall are pictures, and if he squints, Loki sees they are not paintings but images of both him and Thor.

“Are you alright?” Thor asks in wake of Loki’s silence. “Did you have another dream?”

“Why are we here?” Loki dreads the answer and hates the confusion on his brother’s face.

“Loki— what do you mean? This is our home.”

No, Loki thinks. Their home is golden and grand not— whatever mediocre dwelling this is. They are princes fit for gold and glory, not the casual garments of mortals. Something is terribly wrong. He shakes his head and Thor watches him, all amusement vanishing.

“This is not our home, Thor. Don’t you remember?”

“You’re scaring me.” Thor reaches over to place his hand on his forehead and Loki jerks back from the touch. This isn’t his Thor, just as this isn’t his home.

“Heimdall!” Loki yells up at the ceiling. He closes his eyes, waits to be swallowed in brilliant light. Just like before, it never comes. This is his punishment; they should have never disobeyed father. “Please, I’m sorry.”

“Heimdall?” Thor shifts closer to him and Loki scoots as far back as he can until he’s huddled a wooden headboard. “Who is Heim— Loki, what’s going on?”

Loki watches his brother with wide eyes and a dawning realization. Thor doesn’t remember, he doesn’t know. Oh, this is much worse than he thought.

“We need to get back.”

“No,” Thor says, he sounds agitated now. Loki knows that tone. He reaches out and grabs for his wrists and Loki squirms in his grasp. But Thor is stronger, even here. “We are going to the hospital.”

“I’m not sick,” Loki spits. “You’re the one—”

“Enough.” Thor silences him. Loki’s mouth clicks shut. “You’re scaring Mjolnir,” he finishes, softly.

Scaring Mjolnir? So, Thor has completely lost it if he thinks Loki is capable of sparking fear into a hammer. Especially if said hammer is Mjolnir. Thor jerks his head to the corner where a fat, gray cat stands with it's back arched and its hair on end.

Mjolnir the Cat hisses in Loki’s direction, and Loki gives it a flat look.

“Okay,” he says slowly. This is a bizarre dream, the curse knocked him out and that’s what has happened. At least he knows he isn’t dead; this most certainly isn’t Valhalla.

He’ll wake, and things will go back to normal.

“Hospital,” Thor repeats. “Now.”

Loki sighs. It looks as though he’ll have to play along with this charade. He plucks at the thin, cotton, shirt hanging on his body. “At least give me some suitable clothes. My armor, anything.”

Thor stands from the bed, giving him a withering look. The corner of his mouth twitches into a small smile. “Yes, your majesty.”

Loki preens only a little. That’s more like it.

 

 

**(ii.)**

Loki becomes conscious in the old truck, peeling his head off the foggy glass, mind groggy with the first signs of wakefulness. He rubs at his eyes and twists up in the seat, realizes his surroundings aren’t familiar, and jolts forward only to be pulled back by a strap against his chest.

He paws the belt, shaky fingers fumbling to undo it, but its Thor who reaches over and sets a large hand over his. Gently and quietly, he moves Loki’s hand out of the way and unfastens it. Air rushes to his lungs, and suddenly Loki can breathe again.

“Are you okay?”

“Does it look like I’m okay?” Loki venomously spits. He bangs his fist against the window and the dash rattles. Thor doesn’t say a word, which is uncharacteristically like him. The Thor he knows would get angry, defensive, remind Loki of his place.

This Thor doesn’t do any of that. He looks at him with such sadness and pity.

“No,” he says softly. “You don’t at all. But the doctor—”

“Right, weren’t you taking me to a healer?”

Thor’s face twists in confusion. He reaches out to run fingers along Loki’s temple, but he jerks away, crowding as far as he can against the truck door. Absently, his hand finds the door lever and he holds it, just in case of a quick escape.

“We just left the doctor,” his brother tells him, and its Loki’s turn to look confused.

“What?”

No, that can’t be right. The last thing Loki remembers is Thor shuttling him into this hunk of primitive metal. He closes his eyes tight, tries to remember, but all he finds is fog and darkness.

“They said the medicine might knock you out. You’ve been snoring since I lugged you back in the truck.”

“I don’t snore,” Loki says petulantly. “What did this so-called doctor say?” He might not know much about Midgardian healing practices, it was never a realm that held his interest much, but he is certain they have no cure for his ailment.

What do the mortals know of curses?

“She said it was good that you remember who you are. The rest will come back, in time.”

Loki scoffs at that and finally opens the door, spilling out and heading for the door. The problem isn’t that he doesn’t know who he is. The problem is everyone else seems to have forgotten.

He must find a way back.

 

 

**(iii.)**

Loki stares at the reflection in the mirror. It’s the first time he’s really looked at himself since waking. He doesn’t look different, but he doesn’t look the same. For one, his hair is no longer sleek and straight with seidr. His natural waves curl around his temple and at the nape of his neck, and no matter how many times he runs his fingers through, they stay that way. Untamed. His skin is still pale, his cheeks too hollow, his lips too thin, and his nose too sharp.

Thor comes to stand in the doorway, arms crossed, smiling.

And he still looks willowy next to his brother, even in a dream. Thor still looks like Thor— strong, and handsome. A physique worthy of the throne; a throne they need to get back to. His coronation approaches.

“I always loved you like this,” Thor says. He leans against the frame now, the stupid smile still intact. Loki can tell he’s still worried beneath it.

“What?” Loki makes a face of disgust. “I look—”

Thor comes up behind him, slipping both arms around his waist and pulling him to his broad, sturdy chest. His nose tickles beneath Loki’s ear when he snorts back a laugh. “Comfortable?” Thor offers. He sways with Loki in his arms, hips moving minutely against his ass and—

Loki can’t move. He’s frozen in place, mind trying to process what exactly is happening. Just like at the hospital, this is too intimate. Loki wretches away, heart pounding, leaving Thor confused with open arms. He crowds himself against the bathroom wall, as far from Thor as he can manage.

“What are you doing?”

Thor only blinks, obviously hurt.

Good, what exactly is he playing at? Loki swallows hard.

“I thought,” Thor starts, his eyes search for an answer. “Do you not remember?”

“Remember what?” Loki asks, panicked. He doesn’t think he’ll like the answer. Or worse yet, he will.

“Loki, what are we?”

He huffs out a laugh, what a loaded question. They are gods. They are would-be kings. They are princes, and they are powerful. But, apparently, they are also soft, and weak, and mortal. So, Loki answers with the only thing he still knows to be true— “We are brothers.”

Thor’s face falls. “Is that all?”

“What more could we be?”

Loki looks past Thor, to the open bedroom—to the single bed.

He thinks he may know.

A peculiar feeling curls in his gut, one that he’s never felt before. He couldn’t put a name to it if he tried. It’s completely new, foreign, yet seems impossibly familiar. A twisted sense of déjà vu. And he looks to Thor to find heartbreak.

“I want to be alone,” Loki whispers, his voice low and hoarse. Thor only nods, blue eyes are glistening, and Loki closes his so that he doesn’t have to see.

Thor stops in the doorway but doesn’t turn around. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

When Loki exits the bathroom, true to his word, there is a pillow missing from the left side. He crawls beneath unfamiliar sheets, cool to the touch. The only light is the one spilling from the bathroom and from under the crack of the door. He hears a creaking beyond it, it stops, and after a few moments, begins to retreat down the hallway.

He can almost picture Thor standing there, staring at the wooden door. Loki isn’t used to his brother being so unsure, so careful. It’s strange, like everything else.

The bed feels big and empty, and the blankets provide a much-needed safe haven when Loki burrows beneath them. He reaches out across the bed and lays a hand on the unoccupied space where his brother must sleep. His heart thumps in his chest and he jerks his hand back, cradling it to his chest.

Loki imagines Thor with him. They’ve slept together before, as boys in Asgard. It wasn’t unusual. Yet, this is different. He knows that. This is their bed, in every sense of the word. He wonders if Thor kisses him here, like lovers might.

His lips tingle with a memory he can’t recall.

 

 

 

**(iv.)**

 “You insisted on those being taken.”

Loki feels Thor behind him, distant. He’s being cautious, this truly isn’t the brash Thor he knows. Loki remains silent, studying the images on the wall protected with glassy frames. Every single one is of him and Thor. His eyes stay on one in particular, the one in the middle, where their foreheads are touching and their eyes crinkle where they smile.

They look happy.

“That sounds about right,” Loki replies loftily. He tears his gaze away to find Thor fidgeting next to the armoire. He looks so pathetic that Loki might offer him a truth. “We look happy.”

Thor smiles to himself, it doesn’t reach his eyes. “We are—” He stops, and the grin vanishes, only to correct himself. “We were.”

That shouldn’t make Loki’s stomach twist, but it does.

“I’m happy,” he lies and gives Thor a smile that he hopes his convincing. If the way Thor stays carefully guarded is any indication, it's not.

“I don’t know what to do,” Thor breaths out. Helpless, and frustrated. “I don’t know how to bring you back.”

Funny, Loki is trying to figure out the same thing. He wants nothing more than to be brought back, but to his own life, and his own time, and his own realm. A place where Thor doesn’t look at him like he’s a love lost. A place where they are brothers and that’s enough.

Because, this isn’t real, and Loki will not allow it to feel real.

“I just need time,” Loki tells him.

Thor nods and collapses on the bed, his head hangs to rest in the palms of his hands. Loki turns away, back to the wall, and back to all the false memories. He spies one in the corner where his hand rests on Thor’s chest. A ring glints in the sun.

He looks down at this left hand, to his finger, and sees it bare but with an indention in his flesh. Something is missing. Loki frowns and clenches his fist and shoves it in the pocket of his sweatpants. That terrible feeling, the one that’s been plaguing him since he awoke, gnaws at his gut.

 

 

**(v.)**

“Are we lovers?” Loki cringes at the choice of words.

Thor jumps, water splashing from the sink. Loki watches his soapy hands turn off the faucet and he shakes them like a dog. Loki grabs the hand-towel nearby and offers it to him; Thor only looks at him oddly before taking it with great suspicion.

He almost wants to laugh. Thor, heir of Asgard, doing dishes like a kitchen maid.

Loki waits patiently for an answer he’s still not entirely sure he wants. Thor looks like he doesn’t know what to say at all. He dries his hands and tosses the towel, turning away from Loki in the process. Thor paces, groaning as he drags a hand over his face and Loki only stands propped against the counter with his arms crossed in the sweater he’s refused to take off.

“I feel like we’re going through this all over again,” Thor says, exasperated.

Loki perks up a little at that. “What do you mean?”

Has this happened before— has Loki forgotten? No. There is nothing to forget. This isn’t real; this house, these supposed memories, this _relationship_. It’s all a sham. That doesn’t sate his curiosity.

Thor laughs; it's humorless. “Me, confessing how I feel about you.”

That makes the corner of Loki’s mouth twitch, something bizarrely satisfying. “ _You_ confessed to me?”

“Yes.”

“And,” Loki licks his lips. “How do you feel about me?”

Thor won’t look at him, keeps his eyes trained to the outside window. Loki looks too, and he finds nothing there but stretches of the open field beyond the picket fence. It’s a nice yard, for such an inferior realm. The fields on Asgard are much better, as far as the quality of fields goes.

“I love you,” Thor says quietly, and Loki can hear the affection in his words. The affection that stretches beyond the bounds of brotherly fondness.

A vice clenches at his heart. That shouldn’t make him feel as he does. His Thor never tells him often enough, it seems it’s always him that’s chasing and confessing. Loki slumps against the counter, curling in on himself. The memory of Thor lying in the dirt, eyes closed, and blood trickling from his temple flashes through his mind. He wishes he had told him he loved him then.

If this Thor is somehow still his brother, at least he can tell him now.

“I love you too,” Loki says, he tries to smile when Thor’s head snaps to him. He doesn’t believe him, that’s not a surprise. He was always a crafty liar. It’s not a lie, it’s the truth and it feels nicer than anything that’s rolled off his tongue prior.

“You do?”

“Of course,” Loki blinks. “You’re my brother.”

The screen door slams loud when Thor leaves.

 

 

 

**(vi.)**

There’s a photo hanging in the dining room. It’s old, yellowed and creased in spots, but carefully pressed beneath the glass. Frigga holds an infant Loki close on her hip, and Odin stands behind a young Thor, hand on his shoulder. They’re all smiling, save Loki, whose mouth is open in a wail. Loki touches the glass, leaves a fingerprint.

He wonders if their parents are the same in this strange world. If so, maybe one of them can help. Maybe they know why this is happening to him. Heimdall has surely pulled them back by now, yet Loki still exists in this fairytale.

“Do they ever visit?” Loki asks Thor when he enters, carrying two steaming plates of food. It smells good, who knew his arrogant brother could cook.

Thor snorts his answer, settles into his chair and takes a swig from a brown bottle. Alcohol, more than likely, maybe things weren’t so different.

“No,” he laughs after that, but Loki can’t figure why it's funny. Do they not miss them? “Mom calls sometimes, but dad—”

Loki turns from the photo, eyebrow raised, and Thor takes another drink.

“Haven’t talked to him since we left.”

“Do they know?”

Thor studies him like he always does. Perhaps he’s waiting for a crack in the old Loki, the one that no longer exists. It pains him to know that won’t be happening. This Thor is good, he deserves happiness.

“Yeah,” Thor answers, voice small. “Yeah, they must.”

“Are you ashamed?”

“Are you?” Thor bites back, and Loki flinches. He sighs and cuts into his steak, eyes lowered and resigned. “Let’s eat,” he says softly.

Loki finds he isn’t hungry.

 

 

 

**(vii.)**

His nails splinter where he tears at the earth.

He doesn’t know what he’s looking for, or what he’s hoping to find. Loki only remembers digging for the amulet and accidentally calling forth the sorcerer who guarded it. It’s a feeble attempt to recreate the unfortunate scenario that brought him here.

A relic of unknown power, a worthy trinket to his collection. It would be fun, Thor had told him, to travel and search for it together. They hadn’t spent time alone in years, growing up and apart. As tempting as the amulet had sounded, this is what made Loki agree.

He pounds at the ground, picks up a rock and chucks it across the dense thicket of the forest, screaming in frustration; he doesn’t have his magic here. Absolutely useless.

There’s no wicked entity that pretzels itself from the soft mud. There’s nothing.

“Heimdall,” Loki tries for the umpteenth time. His vision blurs when he looks up at the canopy of trees, dull morning light shining through the leaves. “Please. I want to go home.”

This is too hard. The sorcerer had claimed he would give him a fate worse than death. Is this it? To be faced with his own perversion; the one he had spent so long trying to bury deep inside him. A life he cannot have, with a brother he should not love.

“Please,” Loki whispers to no one.

Only the wind rattles in the air, twisting limbs and leaves. Loki racks his fingers through the dirt and hangs his head.

 

 

**(viii.)**

Loki finds Thor on the porch when he returns. He’s sitting on the swing, hinged by rusty chains, and it creaks where he rocks back and forth. Imperfect, like the old farmhouse.

Like them.

Thor nurses a mug in his hand, steam rolling off it in the cool morning air. He smiles when he sees Loki, but it’s a broken thing. Loki hides his dirty hands behind his back as he ascends the steps, and Thor stops rocking to scoot over. An invitation, one Loki hesitantly takes.

“Where’ve you been?” Thor asks over the lip of his cup.

Loki curls his fingers in his palms, the looseness of his sleeves helping to hide them. “Out,” he answers. “Hiking.”

“You should tell me next time. We can make a day of it.”

“Okay,” Loki says. It’s all he can say. He hopes he won’t be there long enough to take him up on it— he also doesn’t want Thor to see him wallowing around in the mud like a madman. Not that he’ll be doing any more of that, his experiment was a failure.

The silence that forms between them is calm, and not uncomfortable like many of its predecessors. They watch the sun climb into the sky, shining down over the front yard. Morning dew twinkles on the grass, and somewhere in the distance, a bird chirps. It’s relaxing, and Loki finds himself wishing to have access to such serenity all the time. 

 He wishes he could have this, but it’s not his.

“When did you know?” Loki asks, and Thor hums. “That you loved me?”

The obvious answer is that Thor has always loved him, they are brothers. But that’s not what Loki means, and he knows that.

“We were about sixteen,” Thor starts. When Loki looks over, he’s smiling into his drink fondly, remembering a happier time. “Mom and dad had taken us camping and we had wandered off to a pond. You pushed me in, and I was so mad.”

Loki laughs, a real laugh, though it's small. “I imagine you got me back.”

“Oh, yes,” Thor grins. “I drug you in after me. It was gross but so hot that we didn’t care. When we finally got out, we stripped down to dry out our clothes. There was an apple tree,” Thor stops, knitting his brows together. Loki frowns, and he doesn’t know why. “There were plenty of apples, but we shared. I remember looking at you and thinking you were beautiful.”

Neither of them says anything, and Thor feels closer, though neither has moved.

“I knew that I loved you,” Thor finishes. “Same as now.”

Loki can’t help but stare. That long? Thor has loved him since they were children.

No, he has to remind himself. This looks like Thor and sounds like Thor, but his words, his feelings, do not belong to his brother. His Thor loves him for only what he is.

He’s being watched, and Loki still can’t look away. The swing lets out a groan when Thor leans forward, hand outstretched to cup at his cheek. The touch is soft, but Loki jerks away. He can’t look at the disappointment, the heartbreak, on Thor’s face.

Loki scrambles up, mumbling something akin to an apology. Yet, he doubts it fixes anything.

 

 

 

**(ix.)**

He dreams of a sweet summer, where he and Thor are boys. They’ve just taken a dip in the cool waters of the pond just beyond the orchards. They leave their jerkins to dry on sun-hot rocks, and dash bare-chested through the trees.

Loki stops, chest heaving with laughter and exhaustion. Thor is close behind, jumping up and grabbing at a golden apple. The limb weeps with the weight of his brother and wobbles when the fruit is finally in his possession.

They aren’t supposed to be here, but the two princes aren’t fond of doing what they ought to.

Thor settles in beside him, under the shade. He pulls a small pocketknife from his breeches and cuts Loki a slice. It’s both sweet and tart, and though it tastes delicious, he can think of something that would be even more so.

Loki watches the water dry on his brother’s freckled skin. He watches as he takes a bite of Idunn’s apple, juice trickling down his chin. He watches as Thor turns to him, smiling so wide that Loki almost can’t see his blue eyes.

He’s beautiful, Loki thinks.

 _I love him_.

 

 

**(x.)**

Loki bolts up from a dead sleep. On reflex, he looks over to the empty space to his left. He swallows and runs a hand through his sweat-curled hair.

It wasn’t a dream; it was a memory.

 

 

**(xi.)**

When Loki wakes at a reasonable hour, he rummages through the wardrobe for a change of clothes. He touches each article; he can tell which belongs to him and which to Thor. On the same hand, he can tell which pieces he’s picked out, and which he hasn’t.

With a bit of finagling, Loki figures out the shower. The knobs are simple enough, though he does miss having a servant to draw his bath. There’s no doubt that Thor would do it for him, but he hasn’t seen him since the porch incident.

The porch, where Thor had tried to kiss him. Where Loki had wanted him to.

He closes his eyes, lets the warm water spray down him. It soothes his aching muscles. Being confined to a mortal body is tiresome. So many aches and pains, he can hardly determine where they stem from.

Once he’s dressed in fresh clothing, still basic for his tastes, he finds his way to the kitchen. Thor’s not there either, and the couch where he sleeps only holds a folded-up blanket and pillow. Loki peeks his head out the screen door and finds the truck gone.

So, Thor isn’t here at all.

He takes a step back, ignoring the way his chest feels empty.

The least he can do is something nice for when he returns.

Loki finds a recipe book wedged in a corner cabinet and thumbs through it, trying to find something simple enough. His cooking skill is zero, but his potion making skills are exemplary. How different are they really?

He settles on an omelet. Breaking and scrambling an egg or two shouldn’t prove to be difficult.

Loki gathers all of his utensils and ingredients and lays them out on the counter. He steps back with his hands on his hips, looking unnecessarily pleased with himself. This will be just like the time he brewed up a concoction that turned Thor into a frog— though he’s positive his brother will enjoy this better.

 

 

**(xii.)**

He’s wrong. Cooking is much more difficult.

By the time Thor returns home, there’s an egg in Loki’s hair, on his cheek, and cheese on the floor. He’s nipped his finger with the knife when cutting the onions, which made his eyes teary and red.

But he did it. It’s not pretty, but he did it.

Loki holds the misshapen lump of egg out to him, and Thor blinks down at it before taking it with a smile.

“It looks delicious,” he lies.

Something in Loki’s chest either heals or breaks— he can’t tell.

 

 

**(xiii.)**

“That can’t be comfortable,” Loki comments.

Thor ignores him and makes yet another attempt to fluff his pillow. He mutters something, but it’s lost to Loki’s ears. He _knows_ the couch isn’t comfortable, he’s sat on it.

Loki licks his lips, a strange sort of adrenaline pumping through his veins. His fingers curl along the back of the couch and he bobs from foot to foot.

“Hey,” he says a little too loud. “Why don’t you come to bed?”

Thor turns where he’s shouldered into the crook of the sofa, eyes narrowing. He thinks it’s a trick, Loki knows that look.

“Come on,” Loki says softly, he holds out a hand. It’s not an offer for Thor to take it, just an extending gesture of goodwill.

Cautiously, Thor edges up, grabbing his pillow but leaving the blanket. Neither of them says a word as they get dressed for bed, or when they throw back the covers and crawl in.

Once the lights are out, the silence remains but grows heavier. Loki can only hear the rushing of his own blood to his heart, and the sounds of Thor’s rhythmic breathing as he drifts to sleep.

When he’s sure he’s safe, Loki curls to his side and watches Thor in his rest. The moonlight filtering through the blinds offers just enough illumination to make him look ethereal. That’s always been the case; Thor has always been otherworldly.

Peaceful.

Loki can barely remember his brother in a similar state; it all feels like a dream.

Maybe it was.

 _Maybe_ this is his life, the one he’s always had. Perhaps not the one he deserves, but it’s his. If he’ll take it. It’s here.

Loki reaches out and rests his hand of Thor’s beating heart.

 

 

**(xiv.)**

Loki wakes to something warm pressed against him. Soft, and solid. He nuzzles into it only to get a mouth full of hair. When he opens his eyes, he sees nothing but gray.

Mjolnir makes a low growling noise, ears pressed flat against her head. Loki shoos her away, which only takes a wave of his hand. He wonders if she ever liked him, or if she just senses that something is off.

Thor makes a disgruntled sound as she bounces over his stomach, leaping to the ground and bolting out the door. He rubs his eyes with his knuckles and rolls his head to give Loki a sleepy grin.

Loki’s heart skips a beat.

“Morning.”

Loki stares, blinks. “Good morning.”

“I missed this,” Thor whispers, almost to himself. He reaches out and runs his knuckles along Loki’s cheek, causing him to shiver. That’s all—there’s no leaning in for a kiss. Loki finds himself only a little disappointed.

“So have I.” He doesn’t know why he says it. This has never been Loki’s to miss, but it keeps the smile on Thor’s face.

 

 

**(xv.)**

“Were we married?”

Thor nearly chokes on his sandwich.

Loki looks down to his ring finger, the indention is there, but fading. He recalls the gold band in the photo and notices Thor wears one as well.

“We’re brothers,” he says.

Loki gives him a sly smile, one that makes Thor’s ears turn pink.

“No,” Thor continues with a cough. “Not legally.”

He holds up his bare hand. “I thought I had a ring.”

“We did the whole,” Thor gestures vaguely with his hand, “ceremony thing. Exchanged rings. Something borrowed, something blue.”

Loki nods. He has no idea what that means, but it looks to be a happy memory, judging by Thor’s expression.

“So, where’s mine?”

“You lost it gardening.”

Loki sets his cup of tea down. He wishes he could remember, wishes that this false life came with the appropriate memories attached. “I have a garden?”

Thor stands up, chair scooting across the rough, well-worn hardwood. He holds out his hand and Loki takes it.

 

**(xvi.)**

Loki doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, that is to say, he absolutely does. Thor’s pacing the living room, speaking in hushed tones.

“He’s doing better,” Thor says. “Yeah, really.”

A long pause and Loki sticks to the edge of the hallway.

“That’s good though.”

And—

“I know, but I think he’s coming back.”

Loki frowns at that, but Thor turns on his heel in his direction, seeing him and freezing. He combs his hand through his hair, knocking it loose around his shoulders. He looks nice like this, like the Thor he once knew.

“Thank you, I’ll let him know.”

Thor ends the call without breaking contact.

“Who was that?” Loki asks conversationally. He steps from around the corner, and Thor comes to him. He hesitates before tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. Loki lets him, but only to seem normal and nonchalant.

“The doctor’s office. Everything came back clear.”

Thor must notice the way Loki doesn’t react at all. If they had found something wrong, perhaps he could blame his oddness on that. He could blend into this life here and no one would be wiser about where he came from. “That’s good,” Thor reiterates, but it sounds more like a question.

Loki fakes a smile and pats at Thor’s arm.

“That’s good,” he confirms.

 

 

**(xvii.)**

Thor holds him in his sleep, tight against his body, arms engulfing him and swallowing him up. Their breathing syncs with each other and the push-pull of a drowsy snore lulls Loki to sleep.

He wishes every night could be like this.

If he stays, it can be. Asgard grows farther from his heart. All he can feel is Thor, and the love he’s finally able to express. Back home it had begun to twist into something ugly and resentful. Here, it can flourish.

Loki finds himself envious of a version of himself who might have always had this.

He turns in Thor’s arms, presses his cheek against his sternum.

It’s his, for now.

 

 

**(xviii.)**

Loki gets better at cooking, but he lets Thor handle most of the meals. He’s taught how to do laundry, and how to operate the computer. Thor is patient with him like he might be with a child. Luckily, Loki is a quick study.

Their days pass in ease. Thor still hesitates to touch. He’s still cautious, afraid of the rejection Loki has shown him over and over.

At night, however, they hold each other close, legs and arms tangled. It’s there that Loki presses a kiss to Thor’s collar. He knows Thor is awake because can feel the slightest hitch in his breath. Nothing else happens, and the moment passes.

But Loki wants. He wants desperately.

 

 

**(xix.)**

“I love you.”

Thor stands in the threshold of the bathroom, gripping the towel around his waist and dripping onto the carpet.

“What?”

“I love you,” Loki repeats. It feels so good to say it in its true meaning. The way he’s always wanted to. “Always, since I was a child.”

“Loki,” Thor whispers.

This time, Loki goes to him. He cups Thor’s cheeks, bristled with a week-old beard. He soothes his thumbs over it, relishing the feel of his strong jaw beneath his skin; the way it ticks with nerves in every movement.

“Tell me you love me.”

“I do,” Thor says, quickly. “I’ve always been yours.”

Loki closes his eyes and inhales deeply. Oh, how he wishes that were true.

He pulls Thor to him, down, angling his head up to press his lips against his. They’re soft, much like he imagined in his adolescence. It’s somehow more. Thor kisses him, and kisses him, with all the passion of someone that’s loved for years. It shouldn’t be this easy for him.

It shouldn’t feel so good.

Selfishly, he wants to keep this for himself.

 

 

**(xx.)**

They fall into bed, wrapped in each other. Thor has the upper-hand, the towel loosely fastened to his waste discarded somewhere between the bathroom and the bedroom. He paws at Loki’s clothes, and Loki lets him. He lifts his arms, lets Thor strip him of his shirt. By the time his knees hit the bed, his pajama pants are already being pulled past his hips.

Loki feels vulnerable under Thor’s hungry gaze. He’s never seen his brother like this, at least not with that look directed at him. Hard, with eyes darkened with lust. He knows he’s not in much better shape. His cock curves toward his belly, and he recalls every night he’s dreamt about this.

Neither says a word. Thor crawls over him, kisses him slowly. Loki nearly sobs with every tender touch and kiss. Thor’s hands are everywhere— on him, in him, around him. He works him open with expert precision like he’s done it a thousand times.

Maybe he has.

Loki bites back a moan when Thor sinks in. It burns, but he lets himself feel every inch of the slide home. He’ll never go back, not now. Not when he’s had a taste. He claws at Thor’s back, wraps his legs around his waist, and urges him forward.

Shallow thrusts become more erratic and Loki comes with Thor’s hand on his cock while he stays buried to the hilt. Thor doesn’t pull out, and Loki doesn’t want him to.

He wants to feel it all, forever.

 

 

**(xxi.)**

Loki wakes to morning breath and a trail of kisses down his neck. He smiles into it, eyes closed, content to let this morning ride out to wherever it may be going. Rough scruff brushes at his cheek and Thor plants a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Morning.”

Loki hums, rolls his hips to meet Thor’s. He’s not surprised to find him hard, but he _is_ certainly delighted. “Good morning,” Loki says, punctuating with another grind upward. Thor makes a low noise in the back of his throat, and Loki remembers the way he sounded when he moved inside him.

“I wish I could stay, but I have to go back to work.”

“Work?”

Thor, God of Thunder, heir to the throne of Asgard, working? It’s not that Loki viewed him as a glutton— he was often laboring on the training grounds or spending weeks away on hunts in the wilds of Vanaheim. But Loki knows that’s not what Thor means.

“I took time off when you…” Thor trails off, sympathetic eyes raking over his body. “Got sick,” he finishes. It’s an odd way to put it, but it’s easier to swallow than the truth. In fact, he’s sure Thor isn’t even aware of what the truth is.

“Of course.” Loki hesitates; he hates reminding Thor he’s still not recovered. “Do I have a job?”

“You’re an author,” Thor tells him, he lifts himself from Loki’s body, and Loki immediately misses the warmth and comfort. He sets to tugging clothes off, only to tug more back on— much to Loki’s disappointment.

Writing, that makes sense. He’s always enjoyed spinning stories, why wouldn’t he also record them? “Am I any good?”

Thor makes a face of indifference and wiggles his fingers. Loki scoffs to hide his laughter and chucks the pillow at him.

 

 

**(xxii.)**

He’s not fond of the time Thor spends at work, leaving him alone. The garden can only be tended to so many times, and besides that, his fingers hurt from planting and digging. Working the computer proves harder. Thor shows him how to pull up his documents, and Loki spends hours at a time rereading prose he never remembers writing.

It’s a story of two princes, one that reads eerily familiar. The overarching plot makes no sense to him, he can’t see where it’s going.

He’ll start from scratch.

When Thor is home, they cook together, talk and laugh. They fall into bed and fall asleep, naked and sweaty and sated. The quiet snores of Thor lull Loki to sleep, his head pressed against his naked chest.

Why did he ever want to leave?

He’ll trade gold and glory for this. He’ll give up his rank as a prince, he’ll give up his seidr. And some nights he thinks that perhaps he did die and go to Valhalla, and this is his hall. A carved-out place for him and Thor, to live in a feeling of peace like Loki has never known.

 _He’ll start from scratch_.

 

 

**(xxiii.)**

Loki stands on the front porch, wrapped in a flannel of Thor’s that’s too big for him, a cup of hot tea in hand. The muddy tracks of the truck are still fresh, Thor’s only been gone for a couple of hours and he watches the sun rise above the tree line.

A sudden shift in the ground tilts him off his axis. He braces himself on the porch, and it isn’t long until another tremor shakes the whole house. Loki hears the china rattle from in the kitchen, and he lurches forward to cling onto the railing. His mug clatters to the floor, breaking into mosaic shards.

There’s no tea, no liquid spilled.

He frowns as the earthquake seems to stop. Carefully, he bends to pick up the bone-dry remnants from his cup. He lifts each one to inspect; there’s nothing there.

A strange feeling tumbles in his gut. Loki scoops up the pieces into his hands, hurries into the house and deposits them into the trash in a hurry. He can still taste the fresh-brewed tea on his tongue and keeps thinking of his full cup and the dry patch where a spill should be.

 

 

**(xxiv.)**

Loki wakes with a jolt, the faded edges of a dream he can’t remember wisps away like smoke.

He turns to find Thor’s side of the bed empty and rises to look around. It’s dark, he can only make out vague, shadowed silhouettes.

None resemble his brother.

The room is chilly, and Loki goes to the closet to fetch his robe. It’s not like Thor to get up in the middle of the night, he feels something wrong. Something is off. He gets to the closet, but his hand hits the solid wall.

There’s no doorknob.

Quickly, he turns on the light. His heart races in time with the whirling ceiling fan. Where the closet once was, is nothing but a flat gray wall. Loki shakes his head, closes his eyes. When he opens them, the closet is still gone.

There _was_ a closet there. He knows this— he’d just hung the laundry.

“Thor?” Loki whispers, his eyes won’t tear away.

Something clangs in the kitchen. He jumps and turns towards the door. He sees the photos on the wall—the ones of his and Thor’s pseudo-wedding. With a shaky hand, Loki reaches out and touches the glass, his breath caught in his throat.

Their faces are distorted, unrecognizable.

He jerks his hand away fast, hurrying to find safety under the covers of their bed.

Thor still hasn’t returned by the time he falls to sleep.

 

**(xxv.)**

“I think I’m going crazy,” Loki blurts out over dinner. Thor’s been gone all day, only recently coming back to shower and change while Loki prepared a mediocre meal. “Can we go out? Do something? Together?”

Thor looks at him blankly, as if the words are processing too slow. Finally, he grins around his bite of bread. “Of course.”

Loki smiles down at his plate, pushing his noodles around with his fork. They’re a little overdone and the sauce tastes like nothing. Thor doesn’t complain though. He scarfs it down like a man starving.

It’s almost unsettling.

“Thor?”

He grunts.

“What do you do at work?”

Thor stops eating, mouth hanging open. His jaw works open and shut, open and shut. No words come out, or if they do, Loki can’t hear him. There’s a shrill ringing in his ears. A tiny twitch forms in Thor’s eye and Loki’s filled with the same sense of dread as the night before.

He stands up, leaving his plate of food. “I have a headache.”

Thor smiles, an eerie thing that stretches across his face. Unease is the only thing Loki feels.

The walk back to the bedroom seems to take forever, the hall impossibly long in a way it never was before. He doesn’t look at the photos, and he doesn’t look behind him.

 

**(xxvi.)**

Loki wakes again, the digital clock flashing well-past midnight. He’s alone, and not even sure if Thor ever made it to bed. Worst of all, he’s not even sure he cares. The world is off balance, and Loki feels as though he’s hanging upside-down.

Everything that felt real now peels back its mask to show an artificial face.

He’s trapped here, in the world—wherever that may be. And Thor isn’t Thor at all, but a bastardized version composed of old wishes and desires.

Yet, selfishly, Loki wants to keep him all the same. It’s the only way he might have him.

The house is quiet as he leaves the bed. He doesn’t go for the robe; the closet is no longer there. What else might disappear? Everything; until he’s swallowed up?

He finds Thor in the kitchen, right where he left him.

“Thor?”

His brother’s mouth moves in tiny gestures, mumbling something low under his breath. It’s unintelligible, nonsense, and gibberish. When Loki gets close, hand outstretched toward him, the whispers cease in an eerie snap.

Now, everything is too quiet.

“Let’s go to bed,” Loki says. He places a hand on Thor’s shoulder, and there’s no reaction. “Come on.”

Thor turns to him, looking at him strangely. As if it’s Loki who is out of place in the kitchen, and not him. “Of course,” he says and stands, all warm smiles and touches. They don’t quite bring the comfort they once did.

 

 

**(xxvii.)**

Loki stands in the middle of the yard. Thor’s gone, wherever it is he disappears to. With him, the road leading to town has also vanished. There’s nothing but field and forest, their lonely house in the middle of a clearing, the sky gray and looming.

At the tree line, a figure stands. It’s familiar in a haunting way, a curved spine, and shapeless silhouette. The sorcerer of the swamp that banished him here.

They stare at each other in a silent, threatening, stalemate.

 “What do you want from me?” Loki finally asks.

He doesn’t scream, doesn’t yell, and knows it will not matter. He’ll be heard all the same. To his surprise, he doesn’t ask to go home. As crumbling as this world is, he wants to stay. He can’t bear the thought of living a life where Thor doesn’t love him the same.

Loki doesn’t have to walk any further to know the sorcerer smiles; or to know that it’s a wicked, cruel thing.

A blink and he’s alone.

 

 

**(xxviii.)**

Thor’s barely in the door when Loki grabs him, hauling him close and kissing him desperately. It doesn’t take long to get a reaction, and soon there’s a growl in his mouth and he’s being pushed against the wall.

“I need you,” Loki pants, grinding up into where Thor is already growing hard. “Please, come on. Take me.”

“Bedroom,” Thor growls into the corner of his mouth, his hands are already sliding up and down his body, stopping at the waistband of his jeans to tug him even closer.

“No, right here.”

Thor obeys, fucking him hard against the wall until Loki screams and digs his fingers so hard into the flesh of Thor’s back that it breaks the skin. He comes with a muffled cry into Thor’s neck, and breathes him in.

 

 

**(xxix.)**

Loki wakes when Thor gets up to sit on the edge of the bed, where they eventually made it, both passing out from exhaustion. His legs are sore and achy from riding him until the early hours of the morning. He leans over and grabs Thor’s wrist, tugging him back down.

“I have to go to work,” he whispers, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to Loki’s lips. There’s a playful curve to his mouth when he pulls away. “And you need to sleep. I imagine you’re very tired.”

“Very tired,” Loki tells him. “In fact, you may need to stay home and carry me from place to place. I do think my legs are jelly.”

“Insatiable.”

Loki laughs, and for the briefest moment, things are normal again. Or, as normal as they could be, given the circumstances.

He leans up and wraps his arms around Thor, holding himself close. He still feels so warm and real. “I don’t want you to go,” Loki whispers. “Please don’t go.”

 

**(xxx.)**

“Have you seen Mjolnir lately?”

Thor frowns down at the paper, coffee in hand. “Who?”

“Mjolnir, you know. Your cat,” Loki says. It’s still strange to not say hammer.

“Oh.” Thor takes a sip of his coffee. “No, I guess not.”

“Aren’t you worried?”

Thor only shrugs, and Loki huffs in aggravation, tossing the dishtowel in the empty sink. He looks over to where her food and water bowl usually sit, only to find it empty. Things disappear all the time, quicker and quicker as of late, it seems. It shouldn’t trigger the fear it does.

The thing hated him, but Loki’s almost sad to know she’s lost too.

He comes around the back of Thor’s chair, pushing the terror deep in his chest, and wraps his arms around broad shoulders. Loki kisses the beard-bristled cheek so close to his lips and smiles softly.

One day, Thor might vanish as well.

“Anything exciting happening out there?” Loki asks. There probably isn’t. He doubts there’s even a world beyond this forest and clearing.

“Not a whole lot,” Thor says, turning to smile at him, warm coffee clinging close to his mouth. “Just the usual.”

He looks at the paper in Thor’s hands. The words are blurred and jumbled, not a piece of legible text present.

“The usual,” Loki echoes numbly.

 

 

**(xxxi.)**

Loki sits on the porch swing with Thor at his side. The sky hasn’t been blue in days, just a never-ending fog of gray that mists over the tops of tall, coniferous trees. It doesn’t matter. He’s comfortable beneath the worn, cozy blanket that drapes over both of their shoulders while they subtly swing.

“I think he’s waking up.”

Loki freezes, the porch becoming eerily quiet with the cease of rusty, chained squeaks.  “What did you just say?”

Thor shakes himself from a trance and turns to him, smiling with a low hum. “What was that?”

“You just said you think he’s waking up. Who?” Loki asks, though that deep dread settled deep in his gut rumbles to life. It had stilled over the past couple of days, and he’d grown used to the strangeness of it all. The way things disappear and fade as his world becomes smaller and smaller.

Thor still remains. Or, at least, a shell of him that grows increasingly empty. He can barely hold a conversation most days. Just generic turns of phrases. There are no more late-night talks that bleed into the early morning. Thor doesn’t share fond memories, that may or may not be falsely constructed.

What does that say about himself? That Loki’s willing to hold onto something so fragile?

Because he loves him.

“Thor,” Loki says again, slow and steady. “Who?”

His brother only blinks at him, still smiling. “It’s so beautiful out today,” he says.

Loki looks out at the gloomy overcast. There’s nothing nice about it, but he sighs and lays his head on Thor’s shoulder. His vision goes blurry as he watches the fog roll across the field, eyes watering with unshed tears. He hates this, and he hates even more that he needs it.

“Yes,” Loki chokes. “Beautiful.”

Something pulls at his chest, his vision blurring for a different reason.

 

 

**(xxxii.)**

There’s nothing gradual about his ascent into wakefulness. He lurches forward, clawing at his chest where there is a familiar, yet distant, pain still burns there. He gasps for breath, the air around him too dense and cloying to get a proper gulp, and searches the room frantically.

Gold to the ceilings, even down to the filtering light from large arched windows. Asgard. He’s home.

“No,” Loki whispers. His voice is in no condition to talk, but it doesn’t matter. He rasps out a sob and tries to pull himself from the bed. He has to get back; he didn’t get to say goodbye. “No, no, no.”

A hand grabs his wrist and tugs him back down. “You must rest, my prince.”

“Rest?” Loki shrieks, jerking his arm away from Eir, the palace healer. She narrows her hazel eyes, calmly pulling her hand back, looking as if she’d like nothing more than to strike him where he stood. That won’t happen though. He’s a prince again. “All I’ve been doing is resting!”

“You’ve been asleep for a week—”

That halts Loki more than a hand ever could. “No. I’ve been gone months.”

Eir’s face tells him that’s not true at all. “Gone, my prince?”

“Asleep,” he quickly corrects. They must not know of his _dream_. “Surely, it’s been longer than that.”

She shakes her head and eases him back into the bed. This time, he goes willingly. All of a sudden, everything is too much. It’s gone, all of it. The house he shared with Thor, their life, the memories, the intimacy. All of it. Loki raises his hand and stares at the empty space on his finger, no longer indented with a lost ring.

It had never been real, but he feels the loss all the same.

Above him, Eir works at the soul forge, searching for any abnormalities. It’s a blessing from the Norns that she can’t see the humanity that no doubt took root in his heart. He closes his eyes, for he can barely stand its absence.

“What about Thor, is he okay?”

“Yes, Thor woke just hours after you arrived back home. He wasn’t hit with the same spell you were.”

Relief.

“What spell was that?” Loki asks. His heart dampens; he’d held a little hope that Thor maybe experienced the same thing he did. That this shared experience would make them closer. Perhaps not ever as close as Loki wanted, but _closer_.

“We aren’t sure. It took your mother days to untangle the wires in you. It was a mess.”

“It was,” Loki agrees.

Now he understands, every piece of that life had been plucked by his own mother’s hands. The sorcerer had looked into his heart, saw his darkest secret and granted him a wish. Then, he’d allowed them to be saved—knowing that they would never let him sleep forever.

The punishment was never to face with his shameful desires. It was to give him what he wanted and let it be ripped away.

Something he can never have.

“I’m feeling faint,” Loki says, and with a wave her Eir’s hands, the soul forge vanishes. “I should rest.”

“Of course, my prince.”

 _Prince_ , Loki thinks. That’s what he is.

How could he have forgotten?

 

 

**(xxxiii.)**

“Loki!”

Thor’s voice cuts him down. It hurts—so familiar in a way that is simultaneously so foreign. He doesn’t dare to turn around, much too afraid of his own fragile composure crumbling. There is no trust in himself not to fall into his arms.

“Loki, are you okay?” Thor calls out. He catches up to him quickly, Loki’s own pace growing sluggish with the weight of his terror. He places a hand on his shoulder, whirling him around, but Loki keeps his gaze cast to the side.

“I’m up, am I not?”

“That doesn’t mean you’re alright.”

Loki smiles, all teeth, and much too unsettling to be genuine. “Define alright.”

He doesn’t have to look at Thor to know he’s frowning. Loki knows his brother all too well. This Thor, and the other Thor. The Thor that had only existed in his head.

“Are you angry with me? If this is about the amulet, or about how the quest turned—” Thor shakes his shoulder, and Loki has to force himself to stay looking away. He’s crying now, he knows. This really couldn’t go worse. “Loki, look at me.”

He’s never been very good at going against Thor’s wishes, even when he had mischievous, round-about ways of adhering to them. Loki looks up, and his breath catches in his throat.

Thor looks the same, except that he’s traded his soft flannels for armor. His face is the same, as well it should be. But that look in his eyes…it's still there, and Loki’s heart both beats and breaks, mouth falling open in silent awe.

“What happened to you?” Thor whispers. The hand on Loki’s shoulder moves to his neck, Thor’s wide palm warm there, his thumb coming to stroke absently on his jaw. A phantom sensation presents itself, of Thor doing the same thing with fewer clothes in a Midgardian bed.

“When you were out, what did you dream?” Loki asks him.

Thor’s face twists in confusion, but the touch remains tender. “Nothing, I think. It was all very dark. I just remember waking up, and then waiting with you.”

“I see,” Loki frowns. “Do you want to know what I dreamed?”

Thor nods his head, so eager to know the truth. Loki, of course, will never give him that. Not fully, at least.

“I was given what I’ve always wanted, and I woke only to have it taken away. It’s a bittersweet feeling, so please forgive me if I wish to be alone.”

He hopes this will be enough to grant him some respite until the sight of his brother’s face no longer hurts him. Thor seems to consider this, nodding sagely, his grip tightening along Loki’s neck.

“I understand,” Thor tells him, and for the briefest of moments, Loki believes him. “You dreamt of the throne.”

Loki pulls away, recoiling as if slapped. Thor’s mouth pulls into a frown, clearly confused as to why his words would warrant such a cold reaction. That has always been the problem. This Thor was never tuned with his desires—it was always a race of status. It was always Loki knowing his place.

He knows it, in this world.

Second prince, second son. Never Thor’s equal, and never his lover.

What a disaster he was, to love him all the same.

 

**(xxxiv.)**

Loki finds him weeks later, coming up the hill from the training yard, dusty and shirtless, skin shining with sweat. He’s nearly forgotten how Thor looks when he’s sleeping soundly next to him. The memory just a hollow ache buried in his chest now.

“Brother,” Loki greets, falling into step with him.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” There’s a hint of teasing in his tone, the underlying presumption that Loki’s presence isn’t a pleasure at all. Thor grins, and it still knocks Loki off kilter.

“Do you recall the summer when we were boys?”

Thor stops, watching him curiously. “You will have to be more specific.”

“Ah,” Loki sighs. “Of course, we went swimming and then snuck to steal some apples from Idunn’s orchard.”

Thor quirks a brow at him, and Loki’s jaw ticks in frustration.

“I believe so,” he says. “All those memories blur together. Why do you ask?”

The fissure in Loki’s chest widens, threatening to swallow him hole. An angry, red resentment growing in the cavern. Pain, lust, jealousy—it all balls itself up and makes a home.

“No reason.”

 

**(xxxv.)**

There are many ways to leave Asgard. It’s to the people’s detriment that they believe the Bifrost is the only one. All nine realms, and beyond, to different realities and universes beyond their own. Loki searches for them all. In hopes…

No.

But, it’s in his quest that he finds an interesting crack in Yggdrasil.

Loki steps into the desolate palace of Jotunheim, the wind whipping cold and harsh through the ruins. He thinks that maybe it was once grand, Asgard’s icy counterpart, but that stands no more.

Laufey, King of the giants, looks down from his crumbling throne. His red eyes cut into him, curious and wily like a cat. There’s something working there, in that hard skull. Loki can’t begin to fathom what.

“I have a proposition,” Loki announces.

Laufey seems to consider him, lips cracking into something that resembles a smile.

“Go on.”


End file.
